[P] it's kinda hot though

[Toulouse]

toulouse Aside from the sound of his own voice and the wind whispering sweet nothings through the trees, the grove the palomino lay under was quiet. He was alone, only his shadow around to keep him company. 'A perfect summer day,' the wind seemed to say, the tree branches creaking in response. 'Better to just lay here forever, forget about your worries...' What worries? Toulouse had everything he wanted here: shade, his rose oil, and his shadow. 'Better leave the shadow behind, strike off on your own for a change.' Oh, so the wind had a mind of its own now. His golden ears quickly disappeared into his mass of curly hairs, displeasure pulling them downwards against his poll. What a useless thing to say, forget your shadow. He couldn't shake himself of it if he wanted to, why would the wind even suggest such a thing? It was like telling him to cut off his own leg, or shave his mane. Impractical and downright stupid. He was about to come back with an equally snappy response, to show the wind that he was not someone to be messed with, when a baritone voice cut him off. "Toulouse! Of all the men I never thought to see again." He stopped mid-thought, mouth still open as his brain rushed to formulate a response, but the words trickled slowly away like water through his fingers. The gypsy man was exactly as he'd remembered it: dark, chiseled, and downright handsome. It was as if time itself couldn't have marred him, as if grey might never touch his hair or wrinkles disfigure his convex profile. ”Reichenbach, you sly devil,” his voice was smooth like honey, a purr against the velvety backdrop of the wind. Mustering together all of his strength and grace, he forced his gaze away from the bay man’s starry eyes, casting it back up into the leaves overhead instead. One heartbeat passed, then two, his breath painful now through his tightened throat. Was this what it felt like to crush, he wondered? No matter. ”I was beginning to wonder when I might see you next.” ’I didn’t expect it to be here.’ His hair, despite the oils he’d applied, was nothing less than a frizzy mess, and surely he would have grass stains now on his pale coat—hence why he remained stubbornly on the ground. He certainly was in no position to entertain guests, especially not this guest, who made his heart lurch in such a pleasantly uncomfortable way. But then again, how could he possibly say no? the motherland don't love you, the fatherland don’t love you. so why love anything? the faithless; they don't love you the zealous hearts don’t love you. and that's not gonna change. ut deo. @reichenbach idk where this came from ”here am I!”

art: © x coding: © x